


eyes look through you

by weatheredlaw



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, F/M, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Ilvermorny recruits Newt Scamander to guest lecture for their Magical Creature practicum. Tina is only too happy not to be the newest member of the faculty, even if it's only for a year. But, of course, even the mountains are not immune to war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look! it's me, writing self-indulgent, slow-burn _garbage_ because i just really love the idea of tina and newt being awkward teachers together. anyway. who knows how long this will be, or if i'll be able to stick with the slow-burn. they might be making out in three chapters, like who _even_ knows where i'm concerned.

The school is very much like Hogwarts – and also not at all. Newt certainly feels the same way he did years ago, walking across the threshold of the ancient castle, feeling himself surrounded and protected by its aura. Here, too, he senses the comfort of Ilvermorny’s students, anxieties and nerves soothed by the warmth of a place to call home, if only for another year. It smells heavily of pine and cedar, and the chandeliers in the Great Hall are decorated with enormous antlers, and endlessly burning candles. The word _home_ bears itself so strongly in his mind that he is almost confused – it is like returning, in some way. He suspects that has always been the idea.

In his hand, his case rattles. Newt leans down and gives it a little tap. “Settle down, now,” he says. “We’ve only just arrived.”

“Mr. Scamander?” A tall woman with jet-black hair piled loosely on her head appears behind him. “I had wondered where we’d find you.”

“Very sorry,” Newt offers, gaze falling to her emerald boots. “I was looking for the headmistress. I was told—”

“You’ve found her,” the woman says, bowing her head. “I am Anita Crane, and I’d like to be the first to welcome you to Ilvermorny.”

Newt nods. “Very pleased to be here.”

Crane steps around him, gesturing for him to follow. “Come. The students will meet here soon and I’d like to give you a proper introduction. Did you want to say a few words?”

“Ah, no. No, I’m quite alright.”

“Of course, Mr. Scamander.” She leads him toward a long table, carved from the body of an enormous tree. Bits of green seem to grow out of it, and Newt realizes that it has been enchanted to remain alive.

“Curious,” he murmurs, and takes a seat.

A few of the teachers cast him quick looks as he settles. Newt has never been one for grand introductions, but he’ll concede to the headmistress on this. His appointment here is rather odd, and incredibly temporary. A stop on his continued journey. He wonders if anyone here could tell him the best way to Arizona after the end of term.

And then, of course, the students arrive.

Newt is pestered again by a gentle wave of nostalgia. The thrill of a new year, of flooding into the hall and sitting with your house, seeing your professors for the first time in months, wondering if perhaps you’ll make it through the year without detention (always Newt’s worry, and so very out of character for a Scamander, according to so many of his professors).

Newt expects them to fill the tables of the hall, but he watches as the balconies above the room are suddenly crowded with students, and a large door at the opposite end of the hall opens. Another woman leads a long line of what appear to be first-years into the room, and they fill the empty space at the front. For the first time, Newt notices an odd symbol in the floor, and the four statues behind him seem to shudder to life.

The woman says, “I will call your name, and you will step forward into the Guardian Knot to be chosen by your house.”

 _Quite curious_ , Newt decides, and watches the sorting ceremony unfold.

 

* * *

 

“They’re being chosen by their wands, now.” The man on Newt’s right has been giving him a gentle play-by-play of the night’s events, with Newt responding monosyllabically, or with random movements of his silverware. “Then we can eat.”

“Right,” Newt says, and stares out into the room, watching the older students filter in. A great cheer goes up from the crowd as the first years return, running full-sprint to their tables and brandishing their wands. When Crane stands, the room goes silent.

“Welcome, students. Welcome back to another year at Ilvermorny. I congratulate you, first-years, on being sorted into your houses and receiving your wands. It is a great honor, one we are happy to share in with you as you take your first steps toward your wizarding education.” She smiles across the room. “I have only a few announcements to make. The first is that due to increased security outside of Ilvermorny and across the world, we will play host to a handful of MACUSA agents from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Whispers go up in the crowd, and very quickly the students become a writhing mass of anxiety and rumors. A gentle, suppressing _thump_ sounds from the headmistress’s podium, and the room goes quiet again. “President Picquery has assured me it is only a precaution. Do not allow your imaginations to run _too_ wild.”

She turns to Newt. “I would also like to welcome our guest lecturer for the year, coming to us from our friends at the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Newton Scamander will be teaching our Magical Creatures practicum for the next two semesters.” She looks at him expectantly, and Newt stands quickly, rattling the table and knocking over his glass. A wave of laughter breaks out of the students – but Newt is just fine with that.

At least they aren’t frightened anymore.

“Mr. Scamander has a great deal of field experience with magical creatures, so please join me in welcoming him to Ilvermorny. I am certain we will learn a great deal from you, Mr. Scamander.” The students give him a round of applause, and Newt takes his seat.

He feels, not for the first time, someone’s gaze boring into the side of his skull. But when he turns to find it, all he sees is a ripple of dark hair, and then nothing.

“Let us eat,” Crane says, and takes her seat.

 

* * *

 

The school’s caretaker is an older man, much like the one Newt remembers from his time at Hogwarts. The students all call him the Warden.

“They tell you about the woman who taught this class before you?”

“Ah, no,” Newt says, struggling a bit to keep up. “Only that she was taking a leave of absence.”

The Warden nods. “Her husband’s English, like you. Heard he got blasted by Grindelwald.”

Newt pauses. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Great time to be alive, eh?” He fishes into his coat pocket and hands Newt a key. They’d left the main castle after the feast, trekking across the grounds together in the dark. “She lived here,” he says, gesturing to a little cottage in front of a large stable. “Kept things in there. Crane had ‘em relocated after she left. No one else could take care of ‘em.”

“Creatures?”

“If that’s what you wanna call ‘em.” He hands Newt the keys. “Everything’s there,” he says. “No idea which one opens the place, so good luck.” He hands him a spare lantern. “Sleep tight Mr. Salamander.”

“It’s—”

“Don’t really care,” the Warden says, and starts heading back to the castle. Newt waits until his lantern light disappears before trying a few of the keys and shouldering open the door.

The house is small, a single room with a kitchen facing the stable and a large fireplace on the eastern wall. Newt quickly sets about heating the place up, holding his hands before the fire he makes and glancing around. There are sketches of creatures framed on the walls, a few skulls here and there, and some interestingly patterned quilts. Newt feels a sudden sadness, glancing at some of the photos still placed through the room. All of a woman, a bit younger than his mother, with her arms around a man who can only be her husband.

Newt takes them all and finds a drawer to stash them in.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs to one of the photos, and the woman looks at him sadly. It is the only place, he realizes, where they can be together.

He keeps one out, to remind himself he supposes, before unpacking his things.

 

* * *

 

Newt’s personal schedule tells him that his first students are a mix of third-years from Wampus and Puckwudgie, and they are due to meet him at the stables. He sets about preparing his lesson, securing his case and finding a large chalkboard stored in the loft above. He sees them filtering out of the castle, heading in his direction. They slow as they approach, looking him over, as if sizing him up.

Newt remembers the feeling well.

“Where’s Ms. Bellemont?” one of the girls says, settling in the grass.

Newt opens his mouth to speak, but a boy shoots back, “Her husband’s dead, didn’t you know?”

“Ah, Professor Bellemont is…yes. She is…she is mourning,” Newt says.

“Grindelwald killed him,” another girl says. “That’s so _terrible_.”

“It is an insurmountable loss,” Newt says, folding his hands behind his back. “If you’d like, we can offer her a moment of silence and reflection.” The students nod, and Newt bows his head. He thinks briefly of his brother, working night and day back in London, and feels a twinge of guilt that he could not be as useful a son as Theseus.

It fades, though, when someone says, “Who are you?”

“Weren’t you listening at the feast, idiot? It’s the Brit, from the Ministry overseas.”

“Ah, yes.” Newt raises his head.

“Scamander,” a girl says.

“That’s a weird name.”

“It’s very old,” Newt says quietly, and turns to his chalkboard. “Now. Just…take a seat, if you please. We have a great deal to cover today, and I would only like to give this specific lecture once.”

“Are we going to see any monsters?”

Newt frowns, hand stilling over the chalk. “We do not call them monsters. They’re creatures.”

“Same thing.”

He turns to them. “No, actually. A word is very important, you see. It means the difference between being respectful of something and living in terror.” And so, he turns back to the board and writes two words: _monster_ , _creature._

“A monster inspires fear,” Newt says. “A monster invokes images of death and mayhem. A monster is a thing you destroy, or a thing that destroys you. But, a creature…a creature is different. A creature lives parallel to you. It is different, but not to be feared. Dangerous, perhaps. Most certainly many creatures are capable of killing you. But, then, you live amongst creatures with that ability every day of your life.” He looks back at them. “Don’t you?”

A boy snorts. “You mean humans, right?”

“Yes, sir. I do. What is your name?”

“Dennis Cleary.”

“Mr. Cleary. Are you afraid of humans?” The boy shakes his head. “Really? So you harbor no fear of Grindelwald and his ilk.”

The boy balks. “That’s…that’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Grindelwald’s a monster,” someone says. Then, “I see what you mean, sir.”

“I’m very glad you do.” Newt flicks his wand, and the board is clean again. The chalk begins scribbling across, drawing diagrams, arrows, lines. “We are very dangerous creatures in and of ourselves. We are the only creatures in this world with the ability to drastically change it, and alter our personal ecosystems. That is what _makes_ us so frightening. If we don’t _like_ living next to a herd of hippogriffs, we can simply choose to destroy them.” Newt keeps his gaze in the grass as he walks and talks. He can hear a few students whipping out quills and parchment, scribbling down his words.

“That’s what makes us powerful, too,” Dennis says.

“Yes. Power is an interesting thing to possess, isn’t it?” Newt finally looks at him. “But is it a righteous power, or a dangerous one?”

“I guess that depends on the wielder.”

Newt nods. “Certainly. I cannot in good faith teach you about magical creatures without teaching you about the most dangerous ones that we live amongst first. Both wizards and otherwise.”

“We learn about No-Maj’s from Ms. Goldstein,” a girls says. “She teaches our magical defense class.”

“Then I’m sure she would agree with me,” Newt says, and smiles. “Let’s discuss a bit of history, then, before you meet my bowtruckle.”

 

* * *

 

Newt spends his first week this way – teaching students about the history of conflict between creatures and man. A few complain, but Newt manages to placate them with a few creatures here and there. His niffler steals a handful of watches the third day, to the odd delight of his students. Sometimes, the case _rattles_ and a strange noise comes up.

Newt and his creatures become a topic of discussion at the breakfast tables, and Headmistress Crane notices.

“I’ve heard good things, Mr. Scamander.”

“I’m very glad of that,” he says. Part of the stable is coming apart, and Newt’s been fixing it between classes.

“I would like you to be a bit more careful in your discussions on Gellert Grindelwald.” Newt stops hammering, staring into the chipping paint of the structure. “There is no sense in frightening them.”

“I… _personally_ find that people often fear what they do not understand more than anything else,” Newt says, finally descending from the ladder. “It is not my intention to inspire that fear, but with your MACUSA agents—”

“They are children.”

“Very clever children,” Newt says quickly.

“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Scamander. But I’ll trust you to keep your discussions of dark wizards limited from now on.”

Newt sighs. “Of course, ma’am.”

She nods, turning to go back inside. “Oh, before I go.” Crane looks at his case. “Please clear any, ah, _large_ beast displays with myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Newt watches her retreat back to the castle before climbing the ladder once more. He wonders how it came to be that a _Scamander_ became such a thorn in the side of authority figures.

 

* * *

 

It is close to sunset one evening when a knock comes on the cottage door. He answers, and it is a woman, one of the teachers he realizes. The one who teaches the students about No-Maj’s. Ms. Goldstein.

“Mr. Scamander. May I come in?”

“Ah, certainly. Of course.” He ducks his head and opens the door wide, allowing her access. She steps in, pulling off a scarf and looking around the house. “Um. Would you like—”

“You know that No-Maj theories and education is my area of expertise, don’t you, Mr. Scamander?”

“Well, I think I was told that, yes. You teach magical defense.”

“Yes.” Ms. Goldstein touches the photo of Bellemont and her husband. “Are you lecturing them on Grindelwald?”

“I was only trying to make a point. Headmistress Crane has already spoken with me—”

“I’m not here to chastise you, Mr. Scamander. I only wanted to know why a man who seems to know so much about beasts has been teaching children about humans.”

“Because I think it’s important,” he manages. “There’s…there’s no need to learn about the natural world and not understand our place in it. If it offends you—”

Ms. Goldstein puts up a hand. “It doesn’t, Mr. Scamander. I only…I find your approach interesting. That’s all.”

Newt nods. “I appreciate the…the sentiment, Ms. Goldstein.”

She smiles, wrapping her scarf around her neck again. “I had a question, though, Mr. Scamander.”

“Of course.”

“Is it true your mother breeds hippogriffs?”

“Oh.” Newt isn’t expecting that. But he nods. “Yes, it is.”

“…I’ve never seen a hippogriff.”

“Unfortunately I don’t have one.”

“That’s alright.” She moves past him. “I only wondered. Goodnight, Mr. Scamander.”

“Ah. Goodnight, Ms. Goldstein.”

Newt closes the door behind her. From his pocket, Pickett gives a little squeak.

“We could certainly _write_ to her, I suppose. But transporting a hippogriff…” Pickett seems to shrug. “Well it’s no trouble for _you_ ,” Newt mutters. “You’re three and a half inches tall.”

Pickett squeaks again, disappearing into Newt’s vest pocket.

“Yes, of course, leave it all to me, as usual.” He gives the pocket a gentle pat before opening his case and descending the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which there are hippogriffs, because i love them, and really awkward pauses.

If Tina is grateful for anything, it’s to no longer be the newest teacher in the school. Selfish, perhaps, to wish the teasing and jokes onto someone else, especially someone like Newt Scamander – but either it isn’t _happening_ to him, or he is completely unfazed. General reaction to him in the staff lounge suggests the former. Tina’s trying not to be bitter about it.

She’d gone to him because she was curious. Elliot Spence hadn’t stopped talking about Mr. Scamander’s brutal, to-the-point lecture on humans, and he certainly couldn’t stop talk about how the man seemed to have a soft spot for No-Maj’s.

“He even calls them something different. Some weird word.”

“Muggles,” Tina had said, turning back to her board. “Can we please return to our _own_ theories, Mr. Spence? You can debate No-Maj politics and fraternization with Mr. Scamander on your own time.”

Tina’s visit satisfies her own curiosity. The headmistress had told them of Mr. Scamander’s appointment to Ms. Bellemont’s former position just before term had begun. An interesting decision, to say the least. Rumors began circulating almost immediately, but hardly anything was known about Mr. Scamander in the first place. All Tina had heard, that she _cares_ about, is that his mother breeds hippogriffs.

Tina so _desperately_ wants to see a hippogriff.

 

* * *

 

Having the MACUSA agents is not so much a hindrance, but it does serve as a reminder to Tina that there was a different path for her, some time ago. One of possible danger and intrigue, of stalking criminals and collecting informants. Her sister had gone to work for the Congress, but Tina had received a handsome offer from Ilvermorny the same year. It separated them, which was painful, but Queenie was more than capable of taking care of herself, and the salary was _good._ They spent their summers on a decent holiday half the season, and the rest in quiet companionship.

Still – it puts her students on edge. Especially when one begins sitting in on her classes.

“I want you all to open your texts to chapter seven. As second years, this was where we left off last year, and you _should_ have been reviewing material previously covered over the summer.” Tina pauses, cataloguing cringes and sheepish grins before smiling. “But, we’ll continue our review until the end of next week. Just to refresh your memories.” The bell in the courtyard chimes the end of the hour. “Remember your words!” she shouts after them. “A proper defense requires an entirely new language!” A few of the girls from the front row wave goodbye as they all pile into the hall and make their way to lunch.

The MACUSA agent stands. A woman in her thirties, probably. Long coat and a severe looking hat. An auror.

“That was quite a lesson.”

“It’s not always this dull,” Tina mutters, tossing the book into her bag. “Their brains leak out their ears over the summer. It’s this way every term.”

“I need you to keep an eye on your students, Ms. Goldstein.”

Tina laughs without even thinking before covering her mouth. “Sorry. I just…I understand the Congress and the Ministry and everyone is afraid, but…we’re a safe place. How is a twelve year old any use to Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Not your second-years. Your sixth years. Fifth years, even. Seventh years. Students with a greater aptitude for this sort of thing. You teach a magical defense course, Ms. Goldstein. You’re going to have students with an interest in the dark arts.”

“Everyone has a mild interest in what they _should_ be interested in,” Tina says. “I don’t me to be disagreeable—”

“Don’t you?”

“—but my kids aren’t Grindelwald fanatics. You’re not going to find any of that here.”

“Perhaps we won’t.” The woman shrugs. “But you should be cautious. And you should keep your eye on that Brit.”

Tina frowns. “Mr. Scamander?”

“We’ve been tracking him since he got the offer from the school. He spent three weeks in Equatorial Guinea. I know you’ve been to see him—” Tina raises a brow. “And if you could keep tabs on him for me, it would really help me out.”

“You’d like me to inform on Newt Scamander.”

“It’s not a _mission_ , Ms. Goldstein. Just…consider it a series of observations. If he does something suspicious, you let us know.” The woman turns and leaves the classroom. Tina glances out her window.

She has a good view of the cottage and stables from here, and she can see Newt talking to a group of lingering first years, showing them something in his hand, continuously pushing the hair from his face. It’s hard to imagine someone like Newt Scamander falling in with someone like Gellert Grindewald –

But then, nothing about this war has made sense from the very beginning. There are bound to be surprises.

 

* * *

 

“…appreciate your understanding, Professor Crane.” The door to the staff lounge swings open, and Newt and the headmistress filter in, heads bowed in conversation. Tina glances up over the edge of her book.

“Again, Mr. Scamander. It is not _professor._ And I’m only glad you cleared it with me first.”

Newt nods. “Well. You did ask.”

“So I did.” She turns to Tina. “Alright there, Ms. Goldstein?”

“Peachy, headmistress.”

Crane nods. “You let me know when she’s due to arrive then, Mr. Scamander. I’ll have the Warden arrange for the transport here. I only hope it’s not too dangerous.”

“She’s been at this for some time,” Newt says, ducking his head. “Won’t be any trouble.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Enjoy your afternoons, both of you.”

Tina sets down her book. “Are you plotting something, Mr. Scamander?”

“Scheming, actually. Quite different. Completely unique skillset.” He settles next to her, and Tina can tell he does his constant best to take up as little space as possible. “I’ve arranged for my mother to transport one of her new hippogriffs here for the term.”

Tina stiffens, tries to conceal her excitement. “…Oh. That’s…that’s nice.”

“I wondered when I would see you today. I remember you expressed some interest.

 _Yes, some._ Tina smiles. “I would very much like to see that.”

“You’ll be the first then,” Newt says. He checks his pocket watch before tucking it into his coat pocket. “I should prepare a few things. Write to mother, of course.”

“Will she stay a while?”

“Doubtful. My father does very poorly without her. Not quite matched the two of them, but my brother always told me that’s why it worked, you see. Odd little puzzles, the lot of us.” He shoots her a smile before ducking out of the room.

Tina sits, very still, clutching her book in her hands.

She tries not to take the whole thing a bit personally.

 

* * *

 

Ages ago, Tina and Queenie had bought an owl together, to use for personal correspondence. Time and money had allowed them to buy another, and Tina had taken their first one, a tawny owl called Eustace, to Ilvermorny with her. And though he had a terrible sense of time and direction, Tina was quite fond of him, and knew retirement would make him _dismal._ So she kept him working, even if it meant receiving her mail in odd places and at odd times – like her classroom, in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday.

“Eustace is here,” one of the boys calls out from the back, and Tina sighs, throwing open the window and dragging the bird inside.

“You honestly couldn’t have waited one more hour?” she murmurs, untangling the letters and handing him a treat. “Go on, rest up.” She tosses the bird out the window, watching him plummet several feet before he spreads his wings and flaps back toward the owlery.

There’s a letter from Queenie, a newspaper she’s already borrowed from the herbology teacher, and one letter without an address. Tina sets it all aside and returns to her class, demonstrating a proper counter-curse against leg jinxing before the hour is up.

The letter from Queenie is about the radiator, which she swears was enchanted by someone or something within the last few weeks. The other letter is inside a completely blank envelope, written in a cramped, rather tidy scrawl.

_Ms. Goldstein – Hippogriff should be here tomorrow just before noon.  
– N. S._

Tina carefully folds the letter over, setting it on her desk and continuing to clean up her things.

 

* * *

 

She uses her lunch time to walk the length of the grounds between the castle and the cottage, knocking gently on Mr. Scamander’s door.

“Over here!” he calls, waving her toward the stables. She hears rustling inside, and a woman’s voice giving a stern warning to something. Newt wipes his hand and sets down a few tools. “You got my note, then. I was worried about that owl.”

“It’s just Eustace,” Tina says lamely.

Newt nods, giving her a smile. “She’s inside. Did you want to meet her?”

“The…this hippogriff?”

“Yes. Well, my mother is in there as well, but she won’t be staying long.” Newt pushes the stable door open just an inch or so. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, love, you can open it up.”

“Wonderful.” Newt gives the door a hearty shove, and it slides back, revealing a beautiful sight.

Tina has always been enamored with hippogriffs, since she saw one from a distance at a terrible circus when she was a child. Queenie had been petrified, hearing the thoughts of sad, angry creatures and humans alike, and they’d left before they could really see anything at all.

Now, the creature in front of her stands proudly, watching Newt’s mother before turning her gaze to the newcomers.

Tina swallows. “I—”

“Hold up.” Mrs. Scamander holds out a hand. “Proper courtesy must be paid, dearie. Show her, Newt.”

Newt nods. “She’s very proud, see. So you need to bow, just a few feet from her.” He pushes her gently toward the hippogriff. “Go on.”

“What am I waiting for?”

“For her to bow back.”

Tina clenches her fists. “And if she doesn’t?”

Newt clears his throat. “Well. We’ll deal with that if we must. But it shouldn’t be a problem, really.”

“Mr. Scamander—” He puts a hand on her shoulder, and Tina sighs, doing as she’s told. It seems like she stands that way for ages, bowed down, eyes staring at the straw floor. But, eventually, the creature returns the gesture in kind.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Scamander says. “I think she likes this one, Newt.”

“You can pet her,” Newt says. “It’s alright.”

“I…seriously?” He nods, and Tina laughs. “Um. Okay.” She reaches out, tentatively, to stroke the beautiful silver feathers. “What’s her name?”

“Maggie. Short for Margaret.” Mrs. Scamander scrubs her side. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Very.”

“Your Susan misses you, Newt. Shouldn’t spend ages away from home, chasing down _thunderbirds._ ”

Newt sighs. “Frank needed help. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“You and that bird,” his mother says, shaking her head. “Right, then. I’ll need to go, love.” She cups her son’s cheek. “Need to take your father to St. Mungo’s at the end of the week.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s a mess over your brother. Doesn’t sleep.”

Newt ducks his head, the toe of his boot scuffing the floor. “Does anyone?” he asks, and his mother sighs.

“No.” She kisses his cheek. “I don’t really think so.”

 

* * *

 

Tina stays with the hippogriff for the rest of her lunch, stroking her beak and taking it all in. Newt returns from walking his mother to the carriages, quickly wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

“…Mr. Scamander—”

“You’re welcome to call me Newt, Ms. Goldstein. It’s quite alright.”

Tina nods. She almost asks if he’s alright, but thinks better of it. Instead: “Thank you, for sending for me.”

“It was nothing,” he says quickly, waving a hand. “She’ll be here whenever you’d like to say hello.”

“Are you going to show her to your students?”

“Perhaps. We’re still covering carnivorous plants, but I think we could sneak in a lesson on manners.” Newt crosses the stable, scrubbing his hands over the hippogriff’s neck. “What do you think, girl? Hmm? Want to show off a bit? Mother does love you. We’re very lucky she gave you up for us.”

“Your mother does this professionally, then?”

“It’s her trade.”

“That…explains quite a bit.”

Newt laughs. “You’re not the first to think so, Ms. Goldstein.”

She nods. “It’s Tina,” she says. “You…can call me Tina.”

Newt nods. “Tina it is, then.”

 

* * *

 

The MACUSA agent sitting in on her class is starting to become a distraction. For everyone, really. As intrigued by the whole situation as Tina is, she is _not_ an auror. Her responsibilities, for now, are her students.

“You aren’t going to just sit back there until the end of the year are you?”

“I’d like you to get a bit more information out of Mr. Scamander. We know you’ve grown closer—”

“Mr. Scamander is a friend and a colleague.” Tina shoulders her bag, leaning back against her desk. “I don’t feel comfortable _prying_ information from him.”

“His mother was here, wasn’t she?”

“Delivering a hippogriff.”

The woman sighs. “We need to be careful about wizards and witches coming in and out of the London area. Grindelwald’s followers—”

“Newt isn’t one of them.”

The woman raises a brow. “No? So you’re not aware of Mr. Scamander’s liaisons with the Lestrange family? Or his expulsion from Hogwarts?”

Tina frowns. “…No. I wasn’t.”

“Well. In case you wondered where the Lestrange family’s alliance did _lie_ , I would question Mr. Scamander on that. I would also ask him about his time in the Ministry. Might be an enlightening discussion.”

Tina shakes her head. “What are you trying to _get_ out of this?”

“Answers. If indeed Mr. Scamander has ties to Grindelwald, he can’t remain here.”

“So you’re fishing.”

“Hardly. If you knew what we knew—”

“But I don’t,” Tina says.

“He trusts you,” the auror insists. “ _That’s_ the edge you have. The one that I do not. Use it, and who knows.” She gives Tina a playful shrug. “You might be rewarded.”

 

* * *

 

Tina doesn’t intend on going through with the plan at all. It’s not fair to Newt, to suspect him of something so _foul_ when Tina has so _little._

But.

The idea that she might…well. Perhaps get her foot in the door? Being an auror had been a dream of hers as a girl. If getting a step closer to that only required the gentle prying of Newt’s carefully crafted armor – she could handle it. He was a coworker, first and foremost, and though she’d allowed herself to be wooed by the spell of the hippogriff, really – she owes him nothing.

And Tina fully intends on questioning him, after she’s said hello to the hippogriff – but Newt is nowhere to be found.

“Mr. Scamander?” She knocks on the door, and it gives, swinging open wide. The fire in the fireplace has just been put out, and the room is a little jumbled, as if someone packed rather quickly. Tina swallows – did he know? Her first random thoughts are that he realizes he’s been found out, that he’s left to return to London, to give away Ilvermorny’s secrets –

“I’m only going for a few days.”

Tina jumps, turning around quickly. Newt is standing there, case in hand, hastily putting on his coat.

“ _Mercy Lewis._ ” Tina puts a hand over her heart, closing her eyes. “Sorry. The door was open—”

“It’s fine,” Newt says quickly, coming in and sifting through a stack of papers. “But I do need to go.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really.” He finds something and shoves it into his pocket.

“Is it Grindelwald?”

“In a way.” Newt stops, looking right at her. “Did you need something?”

“I…no.” She shakes her head. “No I didn’t. I only came to see Maggie, and to talk to you, but—”

“Yes, I suspect you did.” He sighs. “I think you should tell your MACUSA friends that if they’d like to ask me something, they should come down here themselves.” Tina’s eyes widen, and she wonders _how_ – “It’s very obvious they’ve been reading my correspondence, and that they’ve searched this house, multiple times. I might look it, Ms. Goldstein, but I am not a fool.”

“Newt—”

“So please relay the message then, won’t you? I’ve no interest in discussing my magical ideologies with you under these circumstances.” He steps aside. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to leave and so must you.” He stares at the floor beneath her feet, cheek twitching.

“Right.” Tina goes, and he follows after her locking the door to the cottage. “Why _are_ you going?” she asks, stepping into the night.

“Are you asking for yourself or for one of them?”

“For me, Mr. Scamander.”

He nods, slipping the keys into his pocket, and turns to her. “My brother’s been injured, and my mother needs me. Hopefully that will suffice.” He gives her a nod and brushes past, heading down the road leading toward the carriages, leaving Tina feeling rather awful on the front steps of the cottage.

She visits the hippogriff anyway. To make herself feel better.

 

* * *

 

Newt leaves over Halloween, and in the three days he’s gone, the castle is filled to the brim with rumors. A few figure it out, weaseling it from some of the less constituted members of the staff, but Tina keeps quiet. She does go take care of Maggie, though, which causes a minor ripple among the student body.

“Did he _ask_ you to take care of the hippogriff?” a third year asks.

“He did not, Evelyn. I thought it would be something nice to do.”

“Because his brother might die.”

“I never told you that.”

The girl shakes her head. “It’s alright. Mr. Waumback told us.” The Magical History teacher is notorious for being a terrible secret keeper – so Tina isn’t surprised.

“Please try to maintain some semblance of respect, even in Mr. Scamander’s absence. His family is going through a trying time.”

“Well, at least his hippogriff isn’t going to die.”

“Yes, Leslie. Thank you for that astute observation. Now if we could turn _back_ to our unit on counter-jinxes, that would be lovely.”

 

* * *

 

Tina is just shutting the door to the stable when she hears a quiet cough from behind, and turns to find Newt standing there, looking a bit worse for wear.

“You’re back.”

“I am.”

Tina sets down her bucket, wiping her hands on her slacks. “Um, sorry. I just…I didn’t know who was going to…to take care of her.”

“I had expected the Warden, but I’m sure he was glad to be relieved of duty.” Newt sets down his case. “I’m afraid I must apologize to you, Ms. Goldstein. I was…I was very rude, before I left.” He says all this at a near rapid-fire pace, the manner of it rather rehearsed, as if someone gave him the script. “I should have been more respectful and I was not.” He glances up. “Forgive me,” he says, quietly.

Tina swallows. “Forgiven.”

“Excellent.” He lifts his case again. “Then we can…get back to where we were. I hope.”

She nods. “Of course.” Then: “Is your brother alright?”

Newt pauses, half-way to turning back toward the cottage, giving her a little smile. “My brother is…stalwart. He’ll be in the field again by next week, or so he claims.” He looks at her again. “Going to give my poor mother a heart attack, honestly.”

“I’m so sorry about all of that, Newt. Couldn’t you have stayed longer?”

“No. Theseus wouldn’t let me. Said I was shirking my responsibilities. Turned the entire expedition into a guilt trip, honestly. Anyway.” He glances up. “Sun’s setting. Best get an early night before classes tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Tina nods, starting to trek back up toward the castle.

“Ms. Goldstein.” He stands, the door half-open, body angled toward her.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For taking care of Maggie.”

“It was no trouble, Mr. Scamander. I’m only glad that…that everything worked out.”

“As am I,” he says. For a moment, it seems like he might say something else, and Tina leans forward to hear it, to take it in – but he closes the door.

Tina stares at it for a few moments, blinking hard before going back inside.

 _Stupid_ , she thinks bitterly. _Stupid, stupid girl._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which there are teenagers who are mean, and newt sees that most things do not change, except the ones that do. also i wrote all of this chapter today because i had to get it out of my hand so i'll fix a few things when the kiddos are napping at work, swear.

Only Newt’s own brother could manage to make him feel _guilty_ for rushing to his bedside.

“What on _earth_ are you doing here?” Theseus is sitting up in bed, propped up by several pillows, and reading _The Daily Prophet._

“I came to see _you_ ,” Newt quips, setting down his case and shrugging out of his coat. “I had no idea it would bother you so much.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching.” Newt ducks his head, but Theseus clucks at him and he raises his gaze again. “Mother didn’t _write_ you, did she?”

“She was in my blasted fireplace,” Newt mutters. He did not _like_ certain methods of wizarding communication, and emergency-conversation via _fire_ was one of his least favorites. “She said you needed someone to sit with you. Father’s ill.”

“He’s been ill for months, far longer than I’ve been in bed.” Theseus sets down his paper. “I’ll allow you to pity me for a few hours at most, but then you’ll need to get back to work.” He raises a brow. “How _is_ Ilvermorny anyway?”

Newt shrugs, reaching out to toy with the abandoned entertainment section of the paper. “Like Hogwarts, but also not. Students are mostly the same.”

“They’re American,” Theseus says, folding over editorials and tossing them onto his bedside table. “I’m sure they’re a _bit_ different.”

“Honestly, I don’t remember.”

Theseus snorts. “Not surprising.” He shifts in bed, wincing at the pain before he says, “Make any friends?”

“…I don’t think so.”

“You don’t _think_ so? What the devil does that mean?”

“I…may have had a friend, but I was rather rude to her just before I left.”

“… _Her?_ ”

“The Magical Defense teacher.”

“No, Newt. I said _her._ You’ve met a girl?”

“She’s…she’s not a _girl._ She’s a full grown woman, and she’s a colleague.” Newt sits up straighter. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Yes, but it’s our thing, Newton. You say something demurring and self-effacing, and _I_ retort with clever insults and disparaging comments. Don’t fuck it up.” He gives his brother a gentle nudge. “You could use a girl.”

“I’ve no use for relationships,” Newt says. “And besides—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve _ruined_ everything. Woe is me, for I am Newton Artemis, and everything I touch turns to _shit._ Oh, _do_ come off, little brother. You’re more charming than you give yourself credit for.”

“I am no such thing.”

“Well not to _me_.” Theseus reaches lamely for a glass of water. Newt raises a brow. “ _Help_ me, if you’re going to portkey all the way here from the bloody mountains.” Newt pushes the glass toward him. “Anyway, you need to get back. Not just because of, what I assume, is an attractive colleague. But for those students.” Theseus takes a long drink. “Grindelwald’s expanding his influence. Ministry rooted out a few at Hogwarts just before I wound up here. Naturally Durmstrang’s full of them.”

“Ilvermorny’s quite a stretch, even for Grindelwald. You don’t think—”

“Assume nothing in this war, Newt. Teenagers are particularly susceptible to the whims of convincing minds.” He pauses. “You of all people should know that.”

Newt feels a flush crawl over his neck. “They’ve got MACUSA agents all over the place, you know.”

“And I’m sure the first person they looked at was you.”

Newt sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They’ve been reading my letters, certainly rummaged through the cottage.” He glances up. “It…may have been the source of my argument with Ms. Goldstein.”

“The attractive colleague?”

“Merlin’s beard, Theseus.”

“I’m just trying to get specifics. Did they ask her to question you?”

“I believe so. She’s…she’s the only one I’ve had much contact with, besides the Headmistress.”

Theseus sighs. “Well, they’ve got you sorted then, haven’t they? You shouldn’t have come, Newt. They’ll only have more reason to pester you.”

“I’ve nothing to hide.”

The case under his chair rattles.

“Yes,” Theseus says dryly. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

* * *

 

His brother allows him to stay for two days, then sends a note to the Magical Transportation Department and secures him a portkey back to America.

“Listen, Newt.” They’re walking through St. Mungo’s together, Theseus limping on a crutch and hanging is arm loosely over his brother’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on those kids. They’re going to need a lot of support, especially when…when things start getting worse.”

“Will they?” Newt asks. He feels like a child in his brother’s presence, being consoled at wartime.

Theseus glances at him. “Things will always get worse before they get better, Newt. You know that.”

“I hate the idea of…of children being swayed to such ideals.”

“Anything is possible in an age of impossibilities. Something Dumbledore said the other day.”

Newt freezes, and Theseus lurches forward, nearly tumbling across the floor. “Sorry, _sorry._ ”

“ _Watch it_ , Newt.” Theseus adjusts himself. “Look, just…be careful, and be yourself. MACUSA gives you a rough time, let me know. I’ll sort something out. And, Newt?” They stop at the wide doors leading back onto the street. “Let yourself be happy, won’t you?”

“I’m quite happy.”

“No, you’re only _mostly_ happy. There’s still a part of you that’s miserable and hung up. Let that part go. You might see something else finds its way there.”

 

* * *

 

Newt returns to find his life at Ilvermorny largely the way he left it, with the exception of Ms. Goldstein. He offers his apologies, asks carefully for her forgiveness – but he cannot shake the feeling that something’s been left unsaid, though on which of their parts, he doesn’t know.

He finds her in the stables one Sunday morning, writing a letter. She stands quickly, looking embarrassed to be discovered.

“It’s quite alright.”

“No, this is your space. I just…I keep coming here and—”

“Ms. Goldstein.” Newt steps closer. “Is there…something one of us must say to the other.”

Her hands hang loosely by her side. She looks…ashamed. “Yes,” she says. “I…I only did what that MACUSA agent asked me to, but I did it…for the wrong reasons.” She sets down her paper and quill. “When I was a girl I…wanted to be an auror. Honestly, I would still be an auror, at the drop of a hat. And she…she told me. She said if I found anything worthwhile it might be to my benefit.”

Newt frowns. “I see.”

“I feel terrible, Mr. Scamander. Truly. I just—”

“It’s not your fault,” Newt says. “Frankly, I’m more surprised that I haven’t aroused _more_ suspicion. Though I’m certain to, I suppose, after going all the way back to London.”

“Is your brother feeling better?”

“Quite,” he says. “Walked out of St. Mungo’s yesterday, apparently. My mother had a fit.”

Tina smiles. “You boys certainly give her a run for her money.”

“She’s getting worried, I think, as she gets older. Used to be she didn’t worry at all. But I suppose people like Grindelwald can change you, just a bit.”

Tina steps closer. “Mr. Scamander—”

“We discussed this, Ms. Goldstein. You’re…you’re welcome to call me Newt.”

“And you said you’d call me Tina.”

“Yes, well. That was before I’d insulted you.”

She shakes her head. “You didn’t.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

Newt sighs. “Well. I feel better, I suppose.” He glances toward the hippogriff. “I’m very glad she’s had company.”

“She’s a quiet companion. I enjoy her.”

“Excellent,” he says. “And…Tina.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, again.”

“I should really thank you,” she says. “I don’t really deserve your forgiveness.”

“Oh, come now.” He rocks back on his heels. “Let’s not think so poorly of ourselves. You…you’re quite alright. It’s really just fine.” He sniffs. “Well. I should—”

“Yes, I know. So should…so should I.” She clears her throat. “You…enjoy your Sunday, Mr. Sca—” Tina smiles. “Newt. Sorry.”

“It’s all quite a mouthful, really.”

She nods. “Right. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you at dinner.”

 

* * *

 

Newt doesn’t _want_ to take most of his brother’s words to heart, particularly those regarding the ideologies of his students. He’d prefer to consider them all earnest, thoughtful children, immune to the clutches of dark magic.

But, he remembers Hogwarts, and he remembers how easy it was, as a boy, to follow. To follow anyone at all.

So, he practices vigilance, and at the urging of Theseus, opens his ears.

The first thing he realizes is half the Wampus house seventh years have a running _gag_ about him.

In it, he is portrayed by a rather twitchy, lanky seventh year named Thomas Mallory, and then laughed it. It doesn’t bother him, really – he’s had worse impression done of himself. He was, after all, a teenager himself once. And he had learned from his creatures long ago that it was best to have a skin one did not need to shed – an armor of sorts. He had also learned this from…well. From certain someones. Someones he hadn’t considered in all the weeks he’d been at Ilvermorny.

But, Thomas Mallory believes he is quite clever, and quite charming. He is also in Newt’s seventh year practicum, where apparently most of his material comes from. Overall, Newt doesn’t consider the boy anything more than harmless. And he starts to wonder if that is perhaps the only perceived threat here at all. Students coming upon a new source of material with which to entertain one another.

If they are happy, and not afraid, then Newt is perfectly alright being the brunt of their jokes.

Of course, as he always has – Newt underestimates the cruelty of some. He has done this since he was a boy, and expected the fire crabs in his neighbor’s backyard to _want_ to be studied, as one does a leaf or a toad.

He expects their humor to stop at him.

When it does not, he finds that he is…less than agreeable.

His seventh year practicum is on the edge of the woods and the Ilvermorny Lake, looking for kelpies, when Thomas Mallory says suddenly, “My old man says Grindelwald’s looking for Thunderbirds, Mr. Scamander.” He straightens up. “Is that true?”

Newt frowns. “I’ve certainly heard the rumors.”

“Don’t _you_ have a Thunderbird, Mr. Scamander?”

He sighs. “You know perfectly well that I _do_ , Mr. Mallory. You’ve met Frank twice now.” Newt had decided to interrupt a few of their lessons with larger creatures, and after receiving permission from the headmistress, had introduced his students to Frank. It had been a roaring success, to the point where he did it again, but this time to the entire school, faculty and all.

Frank had enjoyed himself. Newt had been pleased overall.

Now, he is less so.

Thomas shrugs. “I just think it’s odd that the world’s most dangerous wizard is looking high and low for Thunderbirds, and you happen to carry one around in a suitcase.” He glances at Newt. “It’s either you’re rescuing him from Grindelwald, or…”

“Or what, Mr. Mallory?” The entire class has come to a standstill at the edge of the lake, watching Newt and a seventeen year old boy stare one another now. “If you’ve an accusation to make, then make it. I assure you, it won’t be the first, nor the last.”

Thomas shrugs. “Well, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Newt bends down, turning over a stone and finding a slug. “Mr. Mallory, I’m not entirely sure I understand the purpose of this conversation, so I suggest we leave it—”

“I just wonder, is it your whole family, Mr. Scamander? But then, that wouldn’t make sense. Your brother nearly got blasted by Grindelwald, right?”

“Mr. Mallory, that’s quite enough.”

“Unless it’s part of the act. I mean, why not, right? Let yourself get nearly killed so your brother overseas can get a little sympathy from a hack like Ms. Goldstein and the headmistress—”

“That is _enough_ , Mr. Mallory.”

“Recruit a few kids.” He snaps his fingers. “Easy scheme, right?”

Newt says loudly, “Let’s all head back, now. I think we’ve seen enough.”

“Or maybe it’s just you,” Thomas says. “Maybe you’re the odd one out, and maybe you had to rush back home to make sure no one figured you out.”

“Tommy, stop,” one of the girls says. “You’re being nasty.”

“No, I wanna know. I wanna know why everyone seems to think it’s perfectly okay for this Brit to come here and teach us, just as the entire world is starting to fall apart. He just so happens to have a Thunderbird, _and_ a brother at the Ministry. MACUSA’s onto you, you know that right?”

“If you’ve any sketches of what you found, leave them here and I’ll hand them back to you next week—”

“Goldstein doesn’t have the guts to figure you out, but I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Next week we’ll actually have a few kelpies here, so please don’t be late—”

“Your mother’s a freak who breeds monsters and you expect no one to think you’re not—”

“ _Detention!_ ” Newt shouts, the word echoing against the side of the cottage, scaring a flock of birds from the tree. The entire class freezes. “D-detention. Go, all of you. Class is dismissed. I will inform the head of your house, Mr. Mallory.” Newt turns his back on them, aware that none of them have moved. With a fury he himself has never quite experienced, he turns back and shouts again, “ _Go!_ I have had _quite_ enough for one day.”

Eventually, one by one, the class retreats to the castle, leaving Newt alone with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Mallory said you provoked him.”

“He is a teenager,” Newt mutters. “I would expect such a thing. I apologize for my outburst, headmistress. It was uncalled for.”

Crane raises a hand. “No, I understand. The Mallory family…has taken a hit in the war. They’re all a bit suspicious, I think.”

Newt frowns. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Crane says quickly. “Thomas will receive his punishment, and he owes you an apology.” She turns to him. “Just as I do, Mr. Scamander.” Newt frowns and she gestures for him to sit. “When MACUSA arrived, they wanted to know about you. I forwarded your background check and any available information I had, and promised that we would do our best to keep an eye on you. Your associations with the Lestrange family—”

“Leta Lestrange was a classmate more than a decade ago,” Newt murmurs. “I haven’t spoken to her or anyone in her family in…in years.”

“That doesn’t matter much to MACUSA.”

“Apparently not.”

“On top of that your expulsion—”

Newt swallows. “That…has a perfectly good, and terrible, explanation.”

“I know that Albus Dumbledore thought it was a bad idea.”

“Because I did it for someone else.”

“…Endangered the life of another?”

“No,” Newt says. “I…I took the blame. For Leta.”

Crane frowns. “Oh.”

“Yes. I’m text book case of wrong choices at the wrong time. Forgive me. If Mr. Mallory is owed an apology—”

“He isn’t. It is completely unacceptable to disrespect the honor of a teacher, and their family. Mr. Mallory _will_ apologize. And I will…clear things up with the MACUSA agents.”

“Well, if you could please ask them to stop opening my letters, that would be an excellent start.”

Crane nods. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Newt sighs. “Well.” He stands. “I apologize, still for what happened.”

“As do I, Mr. Scamander.” She leads him to the door of her office and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We _are_ happy to have you here, no matter what you might think.”

Newt smiles. “I do not doubt that, headmistress. I assure you.”

 

* * *

 

_Newt – Sorry about Tommy. He’s a good kid, going through a lot. My sister sent along some tea, she said she felt like there was someone I knew who needed it more than she did. Hope it’s proper enough for you. – Tina_

 

* * *

 

Thomas Mallory serves his detention helping Newt repair the rest of the stables, mostly in silence.

They break two hours in, eating a bit of lunch a fair distance from one another, before Newt says quietly, “I’m sorry about your uncle.”

“No you’re not.”

“If you’d like to doubt me, that’s fine, but I’ll say it again.” Newt looks at him. “I am very sorry.”

Tommy sniffs. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Newt shifts toward him. “When I found out about my brother, do you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I panicked. Have you ever had a panic attack?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Newt sighs. “It’s…a lot of things, all at once. Trouble breathing, trouble focusing, trouble thinking. The only thought you have is that you might die, and right after that you think, _well, I suppose that would be alright._ Anything to escape…this feeling.”

Tommy looks at him. “My dad’s an auror, too, just like my uncle. My mom’s going crazy thinking about him. When I told him about you, he freaked out, told me I couldn’t trust you. Couldn’t trust anyone from…from over there.”

“That’s a reasonable fear, I suppose.”

“Seems stupid now,” he mutters. “Guess I should have told him you keep animals in a suitcase. Probably would have made him laugh.”

“Well, perhaps over the holiday.”

“I don’t know if I’m going home.”

“Oh you should,” Newt says. “Your mother will worry terribly. Mine certainly does. Rather constantly.”

“It never stops? Even when you’re…gone?”

“No,” Newt says. “Absolutely never.”

The boy nods. “Right. I’m…sorry about what I said, Mr. Scamander. About you and your family.”

“It’s quite alright.” He turns to look at the stable. “You’ve done quite a job here. Have you pet Maggie?” he adds. The boy shakes his head. “Come on, then.” They stand, heading toward the stables. “A hippogriff always cheered me up when I was boy.”

“You were weird then, too, weren’t you Mr. Scamander?”

“I have never been normal once, in my entire life,” Newt says, putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “And _that,_ I think, is the most reassuring thing about me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ow. sorry.

“Ms. Goldstein? _Ms. Goldstein!_ ” The huff of someone running through the hall after her catches Tina off guard, but she turns and finds only Ms. Pewter, the herbology teacher, out of breath and clutching a large basket of…possibly tubers.

“Ms. Pewter, how are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” She pushes the basket into her hands. “I wondered if you’d be so kind as to deliver these to Mr. Scamander. They’re for…something, I think. He inquired about them a few weeks ago. Jumping parsnips, is what they are. Be careful,” she adds, snatching one out of the air before it lands on the floor. “They tend to flop around a bit.”

Tina frowns, looking into the basket and giving it a shake. “Alright.”

Ms. Pewter looks around before leaning close. “Thought you might be the one to deliver them. You know, considering…”

“Considering what?”

“Oh. Oh, well. I mean if you’re not…if you don’t _know_ —”

Tina sighs. “Mr. Scamander is a friend, Florence. I’ll be more than happy to bring these by.”

“Excellent! Oh, and Tina, dear.” She leans closer still. “There’s no _rule_ against it, you know. Crane wouldn’t pay any attention.”

“Thank you, Ms. Pewter. I’ll bear that in mind.”

She makes her way across the grounds, catching the parsnips before they leap out of the basket. Newt is tending the little garden Ms. Bellemont always kept, bent over a rather large growth of squash and looking mildly concerned.

“Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. It’s just these spiders. They’re very curious. I think they’re trying to eat the rutabagas, but I’ve never heard of spiders being interested in root vegetables.”

Tina laughs. “Well, speaking of.” She lifts the basket and Newt’s face splits into a grin. “Ms. Pewter sends her regards.”

“Oh she is lovely, isn’t she?”

“Mm, quite.” Tina hands over the delivery before sliding her hands into her pockets. “You’ve done a nice job with the garden.”

“It was all here before I arrived,” he says dismissively. “I would very much like to _meet_ Ms. Bellemont,” Newt adds. “All the students say she’s rather pleasant.”

“She is.”

“Yes, well.” Newt looks at her. “I need to chop these up and see if they’ll sort out my beetles.”

“Your…beetles.”

“Yes. Would you like to come along?”

“I…alright.” Tina follows him into the cottage, watching him placate the jumping parsnips with soft coos before he nudges his suitcase over with his foot. It springs open, and with a single glide, Newt descends. Tina stares.

His head appears a moment later. “Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Come on.”

“Right. Just…into the suitcase. Full of… _Mercy Lewis_ ,” she mutters, and steps inside.

It is…bigger, of course. She’d expected that to an extent. But she had not calculated for the exact _vastness_ of the place, with all its roaming planes and nests. Tina swallows around something she’d like to say, something like _How did you do this? How did you manage this?_

Newt seems to understand.

“Very carefully,” he says quietly, and goes to a large table and begins hacking up the parsnips.

“Oh! Can they…can they feel that?”

“These? No. They’re not creatures. They’re just strange little plants. I was told by a farmer once they liked singing, but I’m not sure if that’s true. My beetles are sick. I’ve tried a few things, but I’ve used jumping parsnips to help the billywigs before, so I thought it might do the trick.”

“I didn’t know you were also a herbologist.”

“Well. When one is in the trade…” He smiles. “How are you today, Ms. Goldstein?”

“I’m fine.”

“Looking forward to the holidays?”

“Very much. My sister is coming.”

“The one who sent the tea?” Tina nods. “I’ll have to thank her.”

Tina frowns. “You won’t be traveling home?”

“No, no. Theseus…my brother’s rather adamant that I remain here. So as not to arouse suspicion. Or get myself killed, I suppose. Mother’s very upset, but. She’ll be fine.” He turns to her. “Would you mind going into that workshop there and grabbing a bucket?”

Tina nods, turning around toward the little room. It’s crowded with crates and paper, with herbs and leaves drying from the ceiling. Tina trips at the start, catching herself on the long wooden table. It rattles, sends a photo toppling over, nearly onto the floor. Quickly, she catches it, and finds a young woman looking back at her.

This is not a sister, that much is certain. Tina touches the edges of the frame, worn at the corners. The girl keeps smiling. Tina almost wants to smile back – she seems to have that way.

Newt calls her name, and Tina appears with the photo in one hand, bucket in the other, unable to look away.

“Thank you—” Newt stops just in front of her, hands full of parsnips, watching. “…Tina.”

Tina looks up. “Who is she?”

“No one,” he says quickly and takes the bucket. The parsnips tumble in, and a second later the photo is out of her hands. Newt moves into the workshop, opening a drawer to put it in, but seems to think better of it, propping it back in its original place. “Sorry. Thank you, for the bucket.”

“Right.” Tina takes a step back. “Is she your…your—”

“No,” he says. “No, I told you. She’s…”

“She’s no one. A no one you carry a photo of.”

“Tina—”

“Thank you for showing me your case, Mr. Scamander. I’ll…I’ll see you at dinner, I expect.”

He looks about to say something, maybe argue, but…

“Of course. At dinner.” And then he turns away from her, busying himself with the parsnips and the beetles, leaving Tina to see herself out.

 

* * *

 

Just before the holidays, Tina sees the first years off at the carriages, waving as they board. Queenie is arriving in the afternoon, and they’ll have a dinner for the students left behind, something to remind them of home later. But for now, Tina stands at the end of the road and watches them leave, remembering how she had always wanted to do the same during her years at Ilvermorny. As she heads up the road, a familiar blue coat and man step into her line of vision, stopping awkwardly at the edge of the path.

“Mr. Scamander—”

“Her name is Leta Lestrange,” he says. “That is my sole connection with the family. The one your MACUSA is so intrigued by.”

Tina wraps her coat around her tighter. “Oh.”

“Yes.” Newt sniffs. “When we were sixteen Leta hurt someone. I took the blame. Dumbledore tried to talk me out of it, but…” He trails off, staring at the snow between them. “They let me keep my wand, because of him. But that’s why I was expelled. That’s who the girl in the photo is. That’s…that’s what this is all about.”

Tina exhales. “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” he says. Doesn’t miss a beat.

“I see.”

“But I—”

“It’s cold, Newt. I’m going inside.”

“Of course. I’m…forgive me,” he says, “for troubling you.” He turns and heads back toward the cottage.

Tina shakes her head, retracing her steps back inside and into the hall.

She doesn’t need these complications, she thinks. She doesn’t need them at all.

 

* * *

 

Seeing her sister is like _breathing_ again. Tina _runs_  across the grounds toward the carriages, and catches Queenie mid-step, sending her luggage flying.

“ _Tini!_ ”

“I’m so happy to see you. I’m _so happy_ ,” Tina says, burying her face in Queenie’s scarf, inhaling her rose perfume and the sweet coconut spray she uses in her hair.

Queenie draws back, holding Tina’s face in her hands. She frowns, furrowing her brow before she asks, “Who’s Newt?”

Tina sighs. “I take it back,” she say, lifting Queenie’s bag from the snow. “I’m not happy anymore.”

“Oh, Tina, don’t be that way.”

“Can you just…not, please? For a minute?”

“You’re thinking about whoever he is a _lot._ ”

“I’m not, and stop it.” She pushes one of the bags into Queenie’s outstretched hand. “Let’s just…go inside.”

“Oh sure,” Queenie says, a little skip in her step. “I love being back here.”

“Remember how beautiful it was in the winter?”

“Mm, yeah.” Queenie looks around. “Is there going to be another dance?”

“On Saturday.”

“Oh, I missed that. Is Teddy still here?”

“Mr. Waumback?”

“Yeah, we were in the same house.”

Tina raises a brow. “I’d forgotten.”

“Well, maybe we’ll see him.” Queenie looks up. “It’s going to snow more, I think.”

 

* * *

 

It snows all night and into the next day. Tina peaks out her window and catches a glimpse of Newt moving snow from the roof of the cottage, wand twitching in the wind. Queenie says quietly, “Is that him?”

Tina sighs. “It is. But I didn’t ask you to come so we could talk about _men_ the entire time.”

“No, that’s true. They’re an awful lot of trouble.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But you care about him.”

Tina nods. “He’s a friend.”

“Well, that’s a good place to start I guess.” Queenie sips her coffee, tucking her legs up under her. “I miss you at home. I wish you were there. I know you think it might be a waste of time, but you should apply for the investigations department again.”

“Maybe,” Tina says quietly.

“You’re happy here, though.”

“I am.”

“You like the kids.” Queenie smiles. “That’s sweet, T.”

“They need…something, right now. I don’t know, the world is changing so much.”

“You’re good for it,” Queenie says. “You really are.”

 

* * *

 

Each year, Ilvermorny hosts a dance for the students who remain behind. It’s a gentle affair, with music and food, and the remaining teachers chaperoning. This is the first time Tina’s stayed behind as faculty, but she remembers it as a girl, how she stood awkwardly in the shadows while Queenie danced with a dozen boys. Now she stands under enchanted moonlight, and still watches while Queenies dances. It’s tradition, at this point.

“Are you interested in dancing?” Newt stands a foot or so away from her, hands clasped behind his dinner jacket, looking out at the crowd.

“It’s a passing one,” Tina says quietly. “Are you?”

“I took lessons when I was younger. Father insisted. Theseus is quite the waltzer, but I was always a bit clumsy.” He turns to her. “Would you like to?”

The offer takes Tina by surprise, but she nods, setting down her glass of cider and taking his outstretched hand. They move toward the edge, and she feels his hand on her waist, a gentle question before she nods, and he begins to lead.

Half-way through, Tina says, “Are you sure you aren’t the better dancer?”

“Heavens no. Theseus—”

“Do you compare yourself to your brother a lot?”

Newt ducks his head. “Not…often. Occasionally, when the moment seems right.”

“You should stop,” Tina says. “I don’t know your brother, but you’re a perfectly wonderful dancer, Mr. Scamander.”

“I thought we’d agreed upon _Newt._ ”

Tina looks toward the other dancers. She doesn’t really have anything else to say.

Newt sighs. “May I speak with you? Outside of here?”

“…Alright.” They part, lingering close enough that Tina can feel his hand almost reaching for hers. She wants to take it, she wants that _so much_ –

_A girl smiling up at her from a frame._

_“She’s no one,” he says._

They stand just outside the entrance to the hall, Newt looking at the floor between them.

“Newt—”

“I do love Leta,” he says. “I’ve loved Leta since I was thirteen years old and I could fathom what love even was. But Leta’s not…not _here_ ,” he says. “And she won’t be any time soon. She won’t be near me again for some time, I suspect. I’m not the same person I was, when I was expelled. I’m not…please try to understand me.”

Tina nods. “I understand.”

“Then you believe me when I tell you that I…care for you. Very much.”

“I understand that, too.”

“Then please don’t look away.” He puts his fingers under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “If I’ve offended you, if I’ve caused you pain or harm—”

“You haven’t done any of that.” She pulls away from his touch. “But I find it difficult to believe that you could…let her go so easily. The way you look when you say her name, Newt.”

“She was important to me.” He steps closer. “ _You_ are important to me. Why can’t we call it complicated and strange and leave it at that?”

“Because I don’t _want_ to leave it at that. Because I don’t want to fall for you and realize I’m just another woman at another school for you to leave behind.”

“I don’t feel that way.”

“You’re not very good at articulating exactly _how_ you feel, Newt.”

He frowns. “Is that the problem then? I can’t be clear or sort through the fog of it, so there can be nothing between us? You want it to be all or nothing, then?”

“That’s what _love is_ , Newt.”

He blinks. “…I see.”

“What on earth did you _think_ I was going to say? That I’ll…I’ll wait? Until you have it figured out?”

Newt shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “Forgive me.”

“No.” Tina steps back. “I’m done with you asking for my forgiveness and then walking away. I’m done handing it over it you. I’m done with you thinking that all you need to do is _ask for it_ and everything is fine. If you want this from me, then you need to want to same thing from yourself.” Tina breathes. “I want to love you,” she says. “But I want to _be loved_ , Newt.” She takes another step away from him. “Nothing in our world is free, least of all matters of the heart.”

Quickly, she turns on her heels and goes back into the hall, leaving him there in the torch light.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i FINALLY figured out what i was doing, i wrote like three different versions of all this. finally went with the one that made me the angriest, and figured it would be best.

The coming new year always finds Newt relatively alone. It is a habit, at this point, something he simply comes to expect of himself. The grounds at Ilvermorny are covered in a thick blanket of snow come January first, and Newt sets about shoveling it the old fashioned way. It is monotonous, back-breaking work, but he finds it soothes his angular, trembling nerves.

“You want some help with that, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt turns and finds Tina’s sister standing near the edge of the garden, her pink coat a stark contrast to the greys of the morning. He gives her a smile. “Ah, no,” he says. “I’m…I’m quite alright.”

“It’s not really doing the job for you, is it?”

“…I’m sorry?”

“The shoveling.” She steps closer. “You’re trying to take your mind off of Teen, but you can’t.”

Newt clears his throat. “Well I’m…I’m trying to take my mind off a lot of things,” he says lamely.

Queenie smiles. “It’s alright. She’s thinking a lot about you, too, you know. She’s in a meeting with the headmistress right now.” Her brow furrows. “It’s not going well.”

Newt straightens up, holding onto his shovel with both hands, a gentle realization coming to him. “You’re a Legilimens.”

She nods. “Yeah, Tina said I should leave you alone, but…” She glances at the cottage. “This place has been here for ages. You like it here.”

“Um, yes. Yes, I do. It’s quite—”

“Cozy’s a good word for it,” Queenie says, and pulls out her wand. “They’ll have breakfast served soon. You shouldn’t miss it again today.”

Newt presses his lips together as she begins moving snow from the roof.

“Alright,” he says quietly, and abandons his shovel.

 

* * *

 

_Newt –_

_I’ve managed to make a few connections at MACUSA. Sent over some documents reinforcing your identity, minor criminal background, and depressing lack of romance (kidding about that last bit, anyone could tell, really). Those agents shouldn’t bother you too much anymore, but I suppose they’re welcome to do whatever they’d like. They’re certain to leave your post alone, though, considering mother and I are the only ones you write to (you could write to papa, you know, he’d appreciate it). Continue your vigilance, however. While your desire to find most of the world a kind and proper place is an endearing quality, it does you no good in the current situation. If things get too out of hand, contact Henry Pondswallop in the Emergency Correspondence office, and he’ll get a message to me right away. In the meantime, try to enjoy your remaining months at Ilvermorny, and don’t spend them alone._

_Theseus_

 

* * *

 

The start of the spring term comes in the midst of yet another snow storm. It holds Queenie Goldstein back a few more days, during which she visits Newt when he isn’t busy with classes, and helps him feed the hippogriff.

“You and your sister are fond of the creatures.”

“Mmhm. When we were kids Tina took me to a circus, and they had a whole bunch of them there, but they were angry and I…couldn’t stay.” She runs her hands over Maggie’s neck. “How lucky for you to grow up with them.”

“My mother—”

“I know.” She smiles.  “My mother would have loved this.”

“What does she do?”

Queenie pauses. “Nothing, anymore. She and dad died of dragon pox when we were kids.”

“Oh.” Newt grips the bucket of meat in his hand a bit tighter. “I…I didn’t know.”

“Tina doesn’t talk about it much. She keeps a lot to herself.” Queenie glances over at him. “But you know that already. You’re both like that.”

Newt sniffs. He doesn’t think he’s much like Tina at all, nor that she would appreciate the comparison.

Queenie steps closer. “She really cares about you.”

“The feeling is…is quite mutual,” Newt says.

“Tina likes some things to be real simple.”

“It would certainly be nice if they were.”

“Well.” Queenie pulls back from the hippogriff, her gaze falling nowhere in particular. “You’re both a little confused about the way these things work.” She looks at Newt and smiles. “But that’s alright. I know you’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Queenie leaves at the end of January, and Newt feels rather lonesome without her. He had grown quite used to her poking and prodding, her gentle unfolding of the soft blankets of thoughts he tried to cleverly conceal. He doesn’t think Tina is quite keen to see him, really, but he returns one afternoon from meeting with the herbology teacher and finds her moving snow from the steps with smooth flourishes of her wand.

“Hello.”

She turns, smiles. “Hi.”

Newt clears his throat. He has a great deal he’s been preparing to say, and he fully intends on saying it, even going so far as to open his mouth and begin to say, “Miss Goldstein—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Newt.”

He looks up. “…Oh.”

“It’s…honestly it was all so silly, I don’t know why I—”

“Nothing you do is silly,” Newt says. “You’re…you’re the _least_ silly person I know.” Tina raises a brow and Newt looks down. “Ah. Well. That is to say…I do, though. Owe you an apology. You were right to be quite cross with me. I…acted a prat.” He looks up again. “I cannot promise you much of anything, Tina. For that I am sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I never asked you to promise me. I only…I think I make the mistake, sometimes, of wanting very specific things, without taking into account what others might want for themselves, or feel on their own. That’s my own problem,” she adds. “I’m not asking you to do a single thing about that.”

“But you were right though, that night. It…it _can_ be simpler.” He clenches his fists. “But it also can’t. And again, I am truly sorry for that.”

Tina nods. “It’s alright. I…understand. Now, I think, better than I did before.” She slides her hands into her coat pockets, looking around. “I’m just glad to be able to be friends, Newt.”

“Yes,” he says, smiling. “I quite like that bit.”

“Good. I’m very glad you do.”

Newt offers her an arm. “May I walk you to the hall for lunch?”

“Of course, Mr. Scamander.” She loops her arm in his. “Much appreciated.”

 

* * *

 

Winter ends sooner than expected, a sudden late-February rain rushing through the countryside and turning the grounds into _muck._ Newt and the Warden spend a great amount of time together working on hardening paths for the students, but they seem to delight in trekking mud into the castle, much to the Warden’s dismay.

“Ingrates,” he mutters, completely distraught. Newt puts a comforting hand on his shoulder before taking their pre-made path back to the cottage. There is an odd scent to the air, as if something is coming in on the winds, picking up and dispersing across the grounds. Newt can’t quite place it, but it gives him a chill, quite suddenly. Perhaps another winter storm heading their way. It would be an odd reprieve from the mud, that is certain.

Newt goes to bed that night feeling tense and unsure, put off by a feeling he can’t quite place or describe. An odd premonition, of sorts, but one he can’t clarify. Pickett squeaks from his spot on the bedside table, and Newt shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

He is awoken by the sound of something _roaring_ , something flickering hot and steady against the cottage and the smell of _smoke._ Newt opens his eyes and the room is lit orange. He bounds out of bed, to the door, and stands, stone-still, watching the stable _burn._

“Maggie. _Maggie!_ ” He runs, barefoot through the mud, and yanks on the door to the stable. The hippogriff is beating her wings against the flames and rearing back. Newt reaches for her, and a claw slashes his shoulder, sending him into the dust of the ground. “We don’t have _time_ for pleasantries!” Newt shouts. He points his wand toward the end of the rope – “ _Accio!_ ” – and scrambles to his feet, dragging the creature from the burning building and into the open air.

The doors to the castle fly open, and Newt sees the headmistress bounding across the grass, Tina and a handful of other teachers with her. They point their wands at the flames and water erupts, dousing the fire. Newt continues to pull Maggie, until they are far enough away that he can finally look her in the eyes and bow.

She collapses, panting into his arms. Newt feels blood seeping through his night shirt and down his arm and chest. White hot pain is rushing through the wound, but he holds the hippogriff's heaving head in his hands all the same. Her hind legs are raw with burns, the tips of her wings singed. She’s hurt, but she’s alive.

“Newt!” Tina rushes toward him, falling to her knees on the ground beside him. “Newt, are you—” Behind them, the roof of the stables falls inward. “Mercy Lewis.” She looks at him. “You’re hurt. Did she hurt you?”

“She was afraid, she’s badly burnt.” Newt grips his wand. “I’m fine,” he adds.

Tina takes a breath, opens her mouth as if to argue, but the headmistress interrupts, coming to kneel on Newt’s other side and put her hand over the hippogriff’s beak.

“Is she alright?”

“She will be. Headmistress, whoever set that fire is likely still awake, possibly in the woods—”

“We are not prepared for a manhunt, Mr. Scamander.” Crane reaches for the wound on his shoulder. “You need to see the nurse.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It was _not_ a suggestion,” she adds, and stands. “The stable can be repaired.” She gestures toward the group of teachers already fixing the structure.

“I can’t leave Maggie,” Newt says. “There’s no need to bother the nurse at this hour.”

Crane sighs. “Mr. Scamander—”

“I can help,” Tina says, quickly. “I… I have some first aid skill.” She ducks her head, touching the singed tips of Maggie's wings.

Crane nods. “As long as you’re fit by tomorrow, Mr. Scamander. We’ll sort this, though.” She offers a hand to help him to his feet. “That is a promise.”

 

* * *

 

“Stubborn,” Tina mutters, as Newt sits on a kitchen chair, still covered in mud and soot. “So _stubborn._ ”

“Hufflepuff through and through,” Newt murmurs. He watches Tina clean the wound, only a little self-conscious at his bare upper-half being on display for her to see. “You’re quite skilled at that.”

She glances up. “A working knowledge of dark magic defense requires some measure of practicality. But—” She takes her wand, murmuring something and pressing the tip of it to his shoulder. It glows for a moment, and Newt feels a warmth spread through him. “That should do it.” She settles in the chair across from him, finally reaching for a cup of tea. Newt feels her eyes on him, but they are cataloging, surveying the pattern of scars and scrapes that never fade.

“It’s a dangerous trade,” he says.

“Research? So I’ve heard.” She finally looks away, taking a long sip of her tea. Newt goes and fetches a sweater before stoking the fire. “Will Maggie be alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. A bit spooked for a while, but she will recover. Mother will be furious, of course. Maggie’s one of her favorites.”

“Some trip to America, huh?”

Newt smiles. “You can’t say it hasn’t been eventful.”

“No, it—” Tina frowns, waving for him to sit back down. “Missed a spot,” she says, and reaches for his cheek. Her fingers are warm on his skin. Newt keeps his gaze settled just past her ear, aware how close they are, and how very much he would like to—

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Sorry!” Tina pulls back quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. You’ve got a burn there.”

Newt shakes his head. “You’re fine.”

“Just a sec.” She mutters the incantation again, and Newt feels the little ache just over his neck fade away. “There.” Her hand stays on his cheek, thumb ghosting just under his eye. Newt finally looks at her, her lips slightly parted, watching him like he might watch one of his own. Perhaps, to her, he is a creature in and of himself, a strange thing from a strange land, dropped into her home and expected to thrive.

He isn’t sure that, without her, he would have.

“I should go,” she murmurs, but her hand remains. Newt reaches up, in a fit of bravery, and grasps it in his own. “Newt…”

“You’re welcome to stay. I…I don’t mind.”

“There’s nowhere—” Tina swallows. “Newt, I shouldn’t—”

He casts his gaze downward. “No, you’re quite right. It wouldn’t be appropriate, given the…the circumstance.”

Tina nods. He lets go of her hand, and she rises.

“Goodnight,” she says. “Get some rest, please. You need it.”

“Of course. Thank you, again. For…for everything.”

She smiles, and in another moment, is swallowed by the darkness, though Newt can make out the distant pinprick of wand light as she makes her way back to the castle.

And though the wound has been healed, Newt still feels his cheek _burn._

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @weatheredlaw


End file.
